


Slowly (Then All At Once)

by undercoverwarlock



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, No plot just fluff, Some Humor, Some sexy times, i just want my boys to be happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:14:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27590068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undercoverwarlock/pseuds/undercoverwarlock
Summary: “Is this?” Harry asked. “A date, that is?”"Do you want it to be?"-Snapshots of Harry and Draco's relationship as it develops. Hermione and Ron are sceptical, Draco hides his secrets, and Harry almost blows up dinner.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 10
Kudos: 181





	Slowly (Then All At Once)

**Author's Note:**

> Characters belong to J.K. Rowling....as in just kidding, Rowling, trans lives are real and valid, queer lives are real and valid, and nothing you say can change that. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.
> 
> Content warning: I mention self-harm and suicide in this fic. If you or someone you know is struggling with self harm or suicidal thoughts/ideation, please seek help. Here's the NHS link with useful links and phone numbers (https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/suicide/) or if you're in the US, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK. Take care of yourselves, you are worth it.

1.

Ginny and Luna’s new flat was in one of the new builds that rose up glittering into the London skyline, modern and flashy. Harry was surprised Luna had agreed to it. As he rode up in the lift, he wondered if Ginny had even asked her before she signed the lease. Since signing with the Holy Head Harpies, she had become increasingly impulsive with her purchases, as if making up for a lifetime of hand-me-downs. He couldn’t blame her, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried.

Luna greeted him at the door with her trademark dreamy smile. She was wearing blue coveralls and a yellow cardigan, her long hair braided in an intricate plait hanging to her hips. Behind her, the party was in full swing. Ginny’s teammates towered above their old schoolmates and coworkers, making Luna seem even more petite and fragile in comparison. But then he remembered what she had been through. What they had all been through. And he corrected himself – Luna was not fragile, she was stronger than any of them.

“Hello, Harry,” she said. She accepted his offering of red wine and led him through the crowd to the kitchen. A few people called out to him as he passed, and he raised a hand, forcing a smile, promising to say hello soon. He wondered how long he’d have to stay to be polite. Half an hour? He could lie and say he had work in the morning. Already, everything was too loud, too much, too close. He took a deep breath in through his nose, the way his mandated therapist had taught him. Out through the mouth. Luna looked over her shoulder at him and raised an eyebrow.

“Are you alright?” she asked, wavering in the doorway to the kitchen. “Do you need some air?”

“That would be great, actually,” he replied, relieved. She pulled him into a quick hug before pointing the way to their balcony. He thanked her, and she patted him on the cheek with a smile.

“Come say hello when you’re ready,” she said. “I’ll let Ginny know you’re here.”

He thanked her again and slipped away.

The balcony was screened off from the rest of the flat by a filmy curtain. Harry was so set on getting outside that he hadn’t stopped to think if there would be anyone else out there. He wrenched open the sliding glass door and froze. He’d know that white blond hair anywhere.

“Malfoy?”

Malfoy turned. He looked just as surprised as Harry was to see him. He held a glass of whiskey close to his chest as he leaned back against the railing, but any attempt to appear nonchalant was betrayed by his white-knuckled grip on the iron behind him. He was dressed nicely, much nicer than anyone inside, but not ostentatious – simple white button down and charcoal grey trousers, black Oxfords polished so well they gleamed in the light pouring from the flat. Harry felt shabby in comparison. Black T-shirt and jeans no longer seemed so appropriate for a house-warming.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, trying to sound curious rather than demanding. A memory from three years ago flashed through his mind so fast he barely had time to register it – the smell of magnolias in Hermione and Ron’s kitchen, Hermione not looking up from the _Prophet_ as she said, “Malfoy’s been paroled,” sunlight and confused relief. Malfoy’s expression was guarded as he met Harry’s gaze.

“I was invited,” he replied coolly. “I imagine you were as well. This is a party, is it not?”

Harry closed the sliding glass door behind him as he considered Malfoy. “Right,” he said. “Sorry, I just… I was surprised, is all.” Why did Malfoy have to be there, why couldn’t the balcony have been empty when all he wanted was to be alone for a moment’s peace? The balcony in question was not large, maybe about a square metre, just enough space for a small round table in one corner and two men to stand next to each other. Harry leaned over the railing, his arms crossed and shoulders hunched, trying to ignore Malfoy’s heavy gaze on him. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

“Are you alright?”

Harry scoffed. “Fantastic,” he said. He thought he heard Malfoy chuckle. For a moment, there was silence, just the sound of Harry doing his best to breathe deeply and settle the panic tightening in his gut.

“Do you want a drink?”

Harry opened his eyes. Malfoy was still watching him, his grey eyes almost soft. He had let go of the railing, the tension running through him at the sight of Harry gone.

“Er, yeah. Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

Malfoy nodded, lips pressed into a thin line, almost a smile. “Water? Or something stronger?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow. Definitely a smile now, small but there. Harry smiled back.

“Beer, if they have it. Thanks.”

Malfoy nodded and disappeared into the flat. Harry let his head fall against his crossed arms with a sigh of relief. Why had he come in the first place? The answer came almost immediately – to be polite. They were his friends. That and his therapist had told him to socialise more. It wasn’t being social that was the problem, he had pointed out to her, it was the crowds. She had frowned and told him to practice his breathing and try anyway.

Malfoy reappeared with a bottle of beer. He had apparently left his own glass behind. Harry straightened up and took the bottle from him with a soft, “Cheers.” Malfoy gave him a tight-lipped smile. He retook his position opposite Harry on the balcony, leaning against the railing as he watched Harry take a sip of the beer, a small crease between his brows. Harry turned away, focusing instead on the hazy city below them.

“I had panic attacks for years after the War,” Malfoy said, his voice so quiet Harry thought he might have imagined it. Malfoy let out a huff of laughter. “Mother chalked it up to the house arrest, especially in _that_ house… But even after, every time I went outside, I would break out into a cold sweat. I was an absolute mess.” He chuckled to himself and looked down at his hands. Harry frowned.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked. Malfoy shrugged. His smile was crooked when he finally met Harry’s gaze.

“Just letting you know that I understand,” he replied. “So you can stop staring daggers at me. I mean no harm.”

Harry picked at the label on the sweating bottle with a sigh. “No, I know, I’m sorry. I’m just not used to you being nice to me.”

“It was in the conditions of my parole. _Be nice to Harry Potter_.”

Harry gave a sharp bark of laughter, surprising himself. Malfoy’s smile broadened briefly before collapsing in on itself. He went back to staring at his hands, picking at a hangnail on his right thumb.

“I’m sorry,” he said in that same low, barely audible tone. “For everything I did when we were kids, for my family, for everything.”

“That’s a lot for one person to apologise for,” Harry said. Malfoy looked up. Something flashed in his silver-grey eyes, but it was gone before Harry could register it – was it hope? He shook his head, took another sip of beer. “Besides,” he added, dabbing his mouth with the back of his hand, “I forgave you a long time ago. We both did terrible things back then.” His gaze slipped down Malfoy’s chest, tracing scars he could not see but could never forget. “I’m sorry,” he meant to say, but could only shape the words, his voice failing. When he did manage to drag his eyes back up to Malfoy’s face, there was a new kind of tension in the air, both confusing and incredibly familiar. Malfoy raised an eyebrow. Harry looked away.

“So, tell me,” Harry said, his voice suddenly too loud, making him wince. “What do you do now? What have you been up to?”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, but he replied nonetheless, “I work in Foreign Affairs with the Ministry as a junior delegate. Apparently I’m very good at talking to people. You? Last I heard you were training to be an Auror.”

Harry nodded. He dug a nail under the bottle’s label, succeeded in prying off a corner of it. “Yeah, I made Junior Auror last month,” he said. The smile he forced didn’t last long. Especially not after Malfoy asked him how that was going. “Great,” he mumbled. “Fantastic. Spectacular.” He took another swig and set the beer down on the small table near Malfoy. Passing this close, he could smell Malfoy’s cologne, mint and citrus mixed with vanilla. Harry swallowed hard and leaned away, back to his side of the balcony.

“That bad, huh?” Malfoy asked. “You look like you were given the sack rather than promoted. What’s wrong, Potter? Catching dark wizards no longer suit you?”

Harry rolled his eyes. He crossed his arms across his chest to steady himself, but the breath that came out was shaky. He tried again – in through the nose, he heard his therapist saying, out through the mouth. “Something like that,” he mumbled.

Malfoy nodded slowly. “I see,” he murmured. He watched Harry turn and brace his arms against the railing, looking back out again at the city as it rumbled in its sleep. He bit his lip as he joined him, their arms only an inch or so apart. His cologne was intoxicating, and Harry closed his eyes as he breathed it in deep. His next exhale was steadier, more even, despite the way his pulse had started to race. You still don’t trust him, he reasoned, that’s why you’re getting all worked up. Calm down.

“Your cologne is nice,” Harry blurted out, desperate to break the silence. Malfoy chuckled.

“ _Eros_ ,” he said. Harry raised his eyebrows. Seeing his confusion, Malfoy explained, “The name of the cologne. By Versace. Greek for passionate love.”

“Huh. Sounds posh. Mine was a Christmas gift after Eddie and I broke up last year. Ron got it because it says ‘FCUK Him.’”

Malfoy snorted. Harry grinned. He glanced over at Malfoy – he had never been this close to the other man without punching him, or without a Stinging Hex distorting his vision. There was a delicateness to his features, sharp angles only softened by the curve of his pale lips, the brush of his dark blonde eyelashes, the gold glimmer here and there of stubble. Something stirred in Harry’s gut, and for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t panic. Malfoy noticed him looking and met his gaze with a curious smile. Harry blushed and looked away.

“So, what’s it like, foreign affairs?” he asked the horizon. “Get to travel a lot?”

Malfoy hummed. “All the time,” he said. “I just got back this morning from Stockholm. I managed to finish all my paperwork early so my boss let me have the weekend off before I go to Morocco next week.” Harry let out a low whistle. Malfoy shrugged. “It’s fine. Used to be more fun. Now I’m just… tired. The work is interesting, and I enjoy it, but it would be nice to be able to stay in the same place for more than a week or two.”

“Makes sense. Not that I’ve ever travelled for any reason than to try and defeat Voldemort.” Malfoy flinched at the mention of his name. Harry hesitated, then apologised. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” he added. “I’m sure… the name must bring up some pretty nasty memories.”

Malfoy’s laugh was hollow. “Something like that,” he said. “But it’s… fine.” He knocked his shoulder into Harry’s to let him know that really, it was fine. Harry, surprised at such casual contact, felt like his skin burned where Malfoy touched him – not like with Voldemort, but as if he had drawn too close to an open flame. He found himself pressing back, just a little, so that their arms touched. Draco really was incredibly warm – wait. He pulled away. Malfoy said nothing, and if there was a pink blush across his sharp cheekbones, neither of them mentioned it.

“So,” Malfoy said, echoing Harry, “not enjoying being an Auror as much as you thought you would?”

Harry shrugged. “It just…”… _reminds me of the war_. “It’s just a lot,” he said. “And I don’t know if…” … _if I can keep it up, going to work, knowing each day, each time I report to a scene, I might be attacked again, or that another one of my colleagues might be in the hospital_. “I don’t know if it’s for me anymore, you know?”

Malfoy nodded slowly. “Sure,” he said. “You’ve already saved the wizarding world once, we shouldn’t expect you to keep saving it just to pay the bills.”

Harry barked out a laugh. “Tell that to the _Prophet_ , would you? Or better yet, tell my boss. Robards fully expects me to make Senior Auror in a year’s time, have my own team in two, and take over the department by the time I’m thirty. I just….” He dug his nails into his arms to try to hide how much he was shaking. “I don’t know,” he managed, his voice thick. “All I know is that I don’t want that.”

Malfoy hesitated. Then, carefully, as if afraid Harry was going to hit him, he leaned into Harry, the whole lengths of their bodies touching. Harry bowed his head. He pressed back, appreciating this small gesture of companionship, even if it was from Draco Malfoy. They stood in silence for a moment, watching the cars below pass through the quiet streets.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?” Malfoy asked.

“No, why?”

“Let’s get coffee. You and me.”

Harry raised his eyebrows and pressed his lips together to supress a disbelieving grin. “Awfully sure of yourself. What makes you think I want to hang out with you?”

“I could use the company,” Malfoy said, then added, “and I think you could, too.”

Harry blushed. “Yeah, okay,” he said finally. “Coffee sounds great.”

“Perfect. It’s a date.”

“Wait, what?”

Malfoy burst out laughing.

-

“He’s been out there a while,” Ginny pointed out. “You sure he’s okay?”

Luna smiled at her beloved. “He’s fine,” she reassured her. “Draco’s out there with him.”

Ginny snapped around to face her, eyes as wide as dinner plates. “And you think that’s okay?” she hissed. “They could have killed each other by now!”

Luna laughed. “No,” she said confidently. “I think they’re beyond that now.” She pointed out towards the balcony across the gradually emptying room – people had started to head home hours ago. But through the gauzy curtain, Ginny could just make out two men, one short and one tall, their shoulders brushing as they talked. She opened her mouth, only to close it again.

“Oh,” she said at last. “Huh. Did not expect that at all.”

Luna shook her head with a bemused smile. “It was bound to happen sooner or later,” she said cryptically. “Which reminds me, Seamus and Neville owe me twenty Sickles.”

2.

“Is this?” Harry asked. “A date, that is?”

Malfoy pursed his lips. It had been a couple of months since Ginny and Luna’s housewarming party, during which time Harry and Malfoy had spent almost every one of their shared off days with each other. They had spent the morning walking around the city, down the canals and through the less crowded areas where gastropubs and hipster cafes popped up next to Georgian terraces bedecked with wisteria and ivy. When they started to get tired, they found a small green and settled on a bench, watching the people come and go. Malfoy had pointed out a couple who seemed to be doing the same thing they were, people watching from across the green. “Odd thing to be doing on a date,” he had said, almost chastising, to himself. 

“Do you want it to be?” Malfoy asked instead of answering.

Harry took his time considering, looking him up and down. It was a warm late summer day, but Malfoy still wore a long-sleeve cotton button down and trousers. Malfoy stared right back, one eyebrow lifted in challenge. After spending so much time with him, however, Harry could tell that Malfoy was more nervous than he let on – his pale cheeks had gone pink, and he fidgeted with a heavy silver ring on his right hand as he waited for Harry to speak. Finally, Harry gave in with a smile.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do, actually.”

Draco beamed.

3.

For their next ‘date’, Harry met Draco at his townhouse for tea. The place technically belonged to the Malfoy family, Draco explained once, but since Narcissa spent most of her time in France, Draco had co-opted it as his own. “Her only stipulation was that I not change any of the décor,” he said with a sad shake of his head. Which explained why Harry felt himself transported into the Victorian era as he toed off his trainers in the entryway. The walls were covered in a richly painted wallpaper, and as Draco led Harry back towards the kitchen, he caught a glimpse of a well-lit sitting room fit to be in a museum and a dark dining room, the polished surface an oak dining table winking at him through the shadows.

The kitchen, on the other hand, was massive and modern. French doors set into a bay window led out to a manicured back garden. A simple pine table and chairs were arranged cosily near a wrought iron fireplace. The wood-top counters and glass-faced cabinets gave the room a light and airy feel, such a juxtaposition to the darkened front of the house that Harry almost gasped. He tried to take it all in as Draco filled an ancient copper kettle and set it on the stove to boil. It was hard to match everything he knew about the Malfoys with a kitchen like this – a family kitchen, devoid of any evidence of house elves.

“Mrs. Weasley would love a space like this,” he said admiringly.

“I’m sure she would,” Malfoy replied with a smirk. “I imagine it’s bigger than the entire Weasley house.”

“Malfoy.”

“Sorry.” Draco raised his hands momentarily in surrender before returning to plopping two teabags into identical grey mugs. “Old habits die hard. I’m sure their house is lovely, despite everything I’ve said in the past.”

“It is,” Harry said firmly. “A bit small in places, but if you had seven children, I’m sure even a place like Malfoy Manor would feel small.”

Malfoy laughed and shook his head. “Ah, the blessing of being an only child,” he said. “I think Mother had her hands full just raising me, I can’t imagine her having more.”

“Maybe having a sibling would have knocked you off your high horse sooner,” Harry pointed out with a teasing grin.

“Hey now.” Malfoy held up a warning finger. “I was doing just fine before you came along, thank you very much.”

“Sure.”

They grinned at each other, revelling in the ease of their banter. Back in the day, they would have decked each other by now. Harry came over to where Draco stood braced against the counter near the stove and hopped up to perch on the counter beside him. This way, he was at eye level with Draco, even as he kicked his ankles against the cabinet drawers behind him. Draco rolled his eyes and called him a heathen. Harry only smiled.

Without fully realising what he was doing, he reached out and brushed his knuckles along the sharp cut of Draco’s cheekbones. Draco jumped slightly at first, before relaxing into the touch. Harry’s stomach fluttered as he switched to trailing his fingertips along the sweep of his jaw, down the curve of his neck. Draco swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He didn’t meet Harry’s gaze at first. Doubting himself, Harry made to pull away, to apologise.

But then Draco shifted, coming to stand between Harry’s legs, his hands running up Harry’s thighs, skimming his jeans so lightly, so afraid to actually touch in case he was rejected. Harry had to stifle a shiver. Draco looked up at him through his lashes, gauging Harry’s response, always so careful. Harry licked his dry lips, stomach tightening as Draco’s gaze followed the movement. He leaned closer, and Harry’s eyes fluttered closed.

The kettle whistled, it’s shriek piercing the tension in the air. Harry leaned his head back with a laugh. Draco cursed under his breath and pulled his wand out of his pocket. He waved it at the kettle so that it pulled itself off the stove and poured water into each of the cups. He moved to go and retrieve milk and sugar. Before he could, though, Harry caught hold of his arm and pulled him back.

Their first kiss was sloppy, forceful, with too much teeth. But slowly, it grew tender as they explored what the other liked. Draco’s hands buried themselves in Harry’s thick black curls, while Harry’s hands gripped his narrow hips, pulling him against him. Draco nipped at Harry’s bottom lip, making him gasp and moan as tongue followed teeth. Harry pulled Draco’s shirt out from his trousers so that he could run his hands up the bare skin of his back. Draco shivered against him. When he pulled away to kiss and suck love bites into Harry’s neck, he was rewarded not only with a throaty moan but with Harry’s hips grinding against him. They both gasped as they rutted up against each other, chasing friction. Harry’s shirt was gone, long ago tossed aside so that Draco could continue his trail of kisses down his chest, licking and sucking at each nipple in turn. Harry tried to unbutton Draco’s shirt, but he pulled away, shaking his head, something like fear in his lust-blown eyes.

“Okay,” Harry murmured. “That’s okay. Shirt stays on, I got it.”

Relieved, Draco pulled him in for another kiss, this one slower, sweeter. He pulled away to bite at Harry’s earlobe, turned to nuzzle at the skin just behind it, and whispered, “Can I blow you?” Harry shivered.

“Only if I can repay the favour,” Harry replied, his voice rumbling in his chest. Draco grinned, a wicked gleam in his eye.

“Promises, promises,” he murmured, before kneeling down between Harry’s legs. When Harry came, Draco swallowed it all. Harry pulled him up into another sloppy, open-mouthed kiss before breaking away.

“My turn,” he growled. He slid off the counter and spun Draco so that he was pinned against the cabinets. He wasted no time getting on his knees and pulling out Draco’s cock, which he proceeded to tease, holding the base as he licked and sucked the head. Draco squirmed, letting out strangled curses in between breathy moans.

“Get on with it, Potter,” he groaned. Harry smirked. Without a word, although so many came to mind, he sucked Draco down until his cock hit the back of his throat. “Oh fuck, yes, _Daddy_ ,” Draco moaned. They both froze for a moment as the words hung in the air. But before Draco could take it back, Harry began to bob up and down in earnest. Draco came with a sob within seconds.

After, they both propped themselves up on the cabinets, their legs stretched out on the floor as they caught their breath. Draco tilted his head back, exposing his long throat.

“Fuck me,” he breathed.

“Maybe later,” Harry replied. Draco snorted with laughter. Harry smiled lazily. “And maybe then, you could call me _daddy_ again.”

“Oh, Merlin’s tits.” Draco flushed in embarrassment, burying his face in his hands. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

“Nope,” Harry replied triumphantly. “Although, to be quite honest,” he added, turning his head to press his lips against the shelf of Draco’s ear, “I quite liked it.”

Draco went completely scarlet. Then, his eyes shot open and he dropped his hands.

“Our tea! We forgot about our tea!”

4.

Hermione stared at him, her fork halfway to her mouth, scrambled eggs dangling dangerously from the tines. Harry sank down in his chair, picking at a loose thread in his jeans. He could hear Ron mucking about in the kitchen, getting second helpings of bacon and toast. Hermione finally put her fork down. With one hand on her swollen belly, she leaned forward as best as she could, trying to look Harry in the eye.

“Draco? As in… Draco _Malfoy_?”

Harry nodded, biting his lip. She slumped back in her chair. Ron came in, plate heaped with bacon and eggs and a slice of toast in his mouth. He must have sensed the change in atmosphere as he stopped and took the toast out of his mouth.

“What happened?” he asked, frowning. Hermione let out a dry laugh and gestured at Harry, who was wondering if he could summon his Invisibility Cloak and hide beneath it forever.

“Harry is dating – get this – Draco Malfoy,” she announced to her husband. Ron dropped his toast.

“You what?” he spluttered. “You’re dating that ferret?”

Harry pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes with a sigh. “Oh God,” he muttered. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Ron slammed his plate down on the table, making both Harry and Hermione jump. “What the bloody hell are you thinking?” he demanded. He braced his hands on his hips. In that moment, Harry could see him as a father to the baby growing in Hermione’s belly so easily that he thought someone had spun a Time Turner and landed him in the future. But no – Hermione was still pregnant, and Ron was pinning him down with a confused but furious glare.

“He’s changed,” Harry argued. His voice sounded oddly thin, even to his ears. “Really. He’s not the same as he was at school.”

Ron threw his hands in the air with a strangled noise of protest. Hermione shook her head, a small, pitying smile on her lips.

“No offense, Harry, but how can you be sure?” she asked. “This is Draco Malfoy, after all. You were convinced he was a Death Eater when he was sixteen!”

“To be fair, he was a Death Eater,” Harry mumbled. Hermione rolled her eyes while Ron scoffed, his hands back on his hips.

“That’s exactly my point, Harry!” she said, her voice needling. “What are you thinking?”

Harry banged his hands on the table, pushing away from it and sending his chair screeching back. “Can’t you just let me live?” he shouted. Hermione jumped again, and Ron put a hand on her shoulder, glaring at Harry. Harry got to his feet and began pacing, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “I… I finally found something good in my life, and you say I’m out of my mind!”

“We didn’t say that,” Hermione said quietly. “We’re just worried, is all.”

“Well, I think you’re out of your damn mind,” Ron said. “For fuck’s sake! He’s an absolute prat, not to mention a bloody fascist arsehole!”

“No, he’s not!” Harry yelled back. “If you spent even five minutes with him you’d know that!”

“I refuse to spend even a second in the same room as the creep!”

“Boys!” Hermione heaved herself to her feet, bracing her weight against the table. Ron reflexively reached out to support her, but she waved him away. “You both are being ridiculous. Now please stop shouting.” She rolled her shoulders back and levelled her glare first at Harry, then at Ron. “How about this, then – Harry, you bring Malfoy along to coffee next chance you get, and we’ll get to know this new Malfoy, all right?”

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but she just held up a finger. “I said, all right?”

Ron scowled. Nonetheless he said nothing. Taking that as acceptance, Hermione turned on Harry. He immediately surrendered. He knew better than to try and fight Hermione.

“Good. Now that that’s settled,” she sat back down, exhausted. “I’m going on maternity leave in a few weeks, and I would appreciate it if you two were on your best behaviours rather than going at it like a bunch of knuckle-headed teenagers. But I must warn you, Harry,” she added, pointing a warning finger at him, “if I even get the slightest hint that Malfoy is up to no good, I won’t hesitate. You understand?”

Harry nodded sheepishly. Hermione let out a long, bereaved sigh. “Good,” she said. “Now, can we please finish our breakfast in peace?”

5.

Draco, Harry was relieved to admit, was on his best behaviour when they did finally manage to get coffee with Ron and Hermione. September was almost over, but the weather held out, and it was an unusually warm and sunny day as the four of them sat at an outdoor café. When Harry started getting twitchy about how many people were around, milling about them and passing behind their table, Draco reached over and put his hand on his knee, rubbing small circles with his thumb. Draco made sure to ask all about Hermione’s work with the Wizengamot, and their preparations for baby. He smiled, was polite, charming even. Ron, who looked like he had a broomstick up his bum the entire time, even began to relax a bit by the end. When Draco excused himself to go to the loo, Hermione let out a drawn out breath.

“Well,” she said, setting her herbal tea back into its saucer, “it looks like we owe you an apology, Harry.”

Ron huffed. “I’m still not convinced,” he grumbled. “Wouldn’t be surprised if that wasn’t actually Malfoy, just someone using Polyjuice pretending to be him.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Why would anyone want to do that?” he asked with a small laugh.

“Get close to you, obviously,” Ron argued. Harry rolled his eyes, chuckling.

“So of course they decided to disguise themselves as my ex-nemesis to charm their way into my bed?” Harry smirked when Ron got flustered and spluttered at this. “Besides, I have wards up on Grimmauld Place against stuff like that, and he’s never triggered any of them. So I can assure you, he’s genuine.”

Hermione shook her head at Ron’s grumpy brooding. “I think it’s safe to say that we were wrong, Ronald,” she said, nudging him with her shoulder. “You can relax now.”

Ron’s mouth twisted into a repressed scowl. “So you’ve slept with him, have you?” he asked.

“Ron!” Hermione hissed. Harry only blinked in surprise.

“I didn’t think you wanted the sordid details, Ron,” he said, smiling in disbelief. “But if you want to know, yes, we fucked long before I told you and Hermione we were dating.”

“Christ, Harry,” Hermione gasped. Ron turned beet red. Harry’s eyes gleamed wickedly behind his glasses, taking a twisted pleasure in getting a rise out of his best friend, just this once.

“Everything alright?”

Draco made sure Harry saw him approaching before he put his hand on his shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. He must have seen something in Harry’s expression, because his eyes narrowed. He glanced between him and Ron as he stood just behind Harry, his arm around his shoulders. Harry put his hand over Draco’s, staring pointedly at Ron as he turned his head and brushed his lips against Draco’s pale knuckles. Ron scoffed and looked away.

“Everything’s fine,” Harry reassured Draco. He stood. Draco, a small crease between his brows, frowned at him but nonetheless said his goodbyes as Harry wrapped his arm around the taller man’s waist and steered him away. Draco looked back at Hermione and Ron over his shoulder and gave them a confused little wave as they walked away.

Hermione sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Well done, Ronald,” she said, coolly.

“What did I do?” he squawked. She shook her head. She watched the odd pair’s retreating backs – Harry dark with his black hair and Sirius’s old leather jacket, Draco pale, thin and elegant beside him – and let out another long sigh.

“At least they seem happy together,” she said. Ron shrugged. She turned her shoulders towards him, since moving her entire body was too much effort. “Why can’t you just be happy for them?” she demanded. Ron crossed his arms across his chest, his expression growing sombre.

“Because I don’t trust the ferret not to hurt him,” he admitted. Hermione gave him a despairing smile.

“Oh, Ron,” she murmured. “This is Harry we’re talking about. He can fend for himself just fine.”

“Can he?” Ron asked darkly. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Ron. He once accidentally blew up his aunt. I’m sure if Malfoy did try to hurt him, we’d be the ones helping Harry cleaning up his remains, not the other way round.”

Down the road, Harry and Draco found a quiet alley and Disapparated back to Grimmauld Place. Once inside, Harry kicked off his shoes and buried himself against Draco’s chest. Surprised, Draco hesitated before wrapping his arms around him.

“You alright?” he asked. Harry only groaned in response. “You want to talk about it?” Another groan that sounded something like a ‘no.’ Draco chuckled. “Fine, fine. Gods, so needy,” he added with a small gasp of laughter as Harry began to kiss and mouth along the slope of his neck. He didn’t complain, however, when Harry walked him back up against the wall of the entryway, pinning him there as he proceeded to nuzzle against his neck, breathing in _Eros_ , citrus and mint. Draco’s fingers curled into Harry’s hair as he closed his eyes, giving in to the breathy moan rising in his chest. After almost two months of being together, Harry had proved a quick study, learning exactly what made Draco fall apart under him. And after today, all he wanted was to prove – to who? Hermione? Ron? Himself? – that he knew Draco, this Draco, inside and out.

“Want to take this to the bedroom?” Harry asked, pulling away just enough to look him in the eye. Draco froze. This, Harry realised. This was why he’d lashed out at Ron, twice now. That despite what he’d said, despite the occasional blowjob or hand down the trousers, they had never actually slept together. Draco refused to take off his shirt, or even his trousers. And Harry never pushed it, never wanted to pressure him into anything. Even now, he rocked back on his heels, ready to concede again. Except this time, Draco was pulling him back. He bit his lip and ducked his head nervously, but when he did manage to meet Harry’s confused gaze, he smiled.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”

“You sure?” Harry asked. Draco nodded. Harry beamed up at him and proceeded to half-drag Draco up the stairs to the master bedroom.

The old Black house had undergone major redecoration since Harry had moved in – gone was the dusty four-poster bed, the heavy velvet curtains, the peeling wallpaper. Instead, the room was painted a deep blue, the mahogany framed queen bed taking centre stage with its heather grey sheets, lit primarily by the tall window opposite the door. Draco only had a moment to take a look around before Harry pulled him back in, kissing him slow and deep. Nonetheless, he let Draco dictate the pace.

So it was Draco who manoeuvred them onto the bed, Draco who pressed Harry back after divesting him of his jacket and shirt, Draco who pinned him to the mattress with hungry kisses. But again, when Harry went to unbutton Draco’s shirt, he froze. Harry moved his hands away, instead rubbing Draco’s upper arms, his shoulders, smiling up at him as reassuringly as he could.

“It’s okay, really,” he said. “We don’t have to, if you’re not ready.”

Draco sighed. He leaned his forehead against Harry’s, their noses brushing. “I want to,” he murmured after another deep, steadying breath that Harry could feel against his own skin. “I’m just afraid of what you’ll see.”

Harry reached up to touch Draco’s face, cupping his jaw as he looked up at him, green into grey. “Hey,” he said gently. “That’s for me to decide. Okay? Nothing under your shirt is going to scare me, unless you have a dark wizard stuck onto your chest that I don’t know about.” He smiled at Draco’s nervous chuckle. “I promise,” he said, before leaning up and brushing a chaste kiss against his lips. “I won’t get scared.”

Draco leaned back onto his heels as he straddled Harry’s legs. He bit his lip as Harry propped himself up on his elbows, smiling up at him encouragingly. Slowly, he began to unbutton his shirt, staring at his own trembling fingers. Done with the buttons, he shrugged the shirt off and draped it on the bed just a little out of arm’s reach. He wrapped his arms around his bare waist, pink-cheeked and teeth digging into his bottom lip as Harry took him in. He sat up a bit more, reaching out a hand to trace the silvery scars slashed across Draco’s chest, where they cut across a clavicle, his sternum, the edge of a nipple. Draco hissed in a breath, but didn’t pull away, instead letting Harry’s hands explore further. Harry kept an eye on Draco’s expression, always ready to stop if needed. But Draco seemed to give in to his touch as his fingers traced a particularly long scar that curved along his ribcage, even let his arms fall to his sides so that Harry could follow its path to where it nicked his belly button. There, Harry splayed his hands against Draco’s stomach, moving to palm along his waist, back towards his shoulders. With two fingers, he tilted Draco’s chin up to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his green eyes warm and earnest. “I shouldn’t have done it, should have known better than to cast a spell without knowing the damage it could do. Darling, I am so, so sorry. But these scars don’t scare me, I can promise you that.”

Draco smiled shakily. “Did you just call me ‘darling’?”

Harry cocked his head to one side with a small grin. “Yes, I suppose I did. What, do you not like it?”

“Oh, I’ll show you how much I liked it,” Draco assured him, his eyes glinting mischievously. But then he sobered up, and took the hand holding his chin in his. “There’s one other thing,” he said, “we should probably talk about.” He stretched out his left arm, revealing the Dark Mark staining the skin of his forearm. Harry looked away, trying to swallow past the lump forming in his throat at the sight. Draco sighed. “I knew it,” he said under his breath. “You still can’t stand that part of me, can you? Even after all this time.”

Harry shook his head. “That’s not it and you know it,” he argued, clenching his jaw. “It’s just….”

“Go on,” Draco snapped, his voice cold. “Say it. It reminds you that your boyfriend was a Death Eater.”

“God, no, Draco, let me finish, would you?” He leaned back on his hands with a huff, ignoring the thrill that ran through him at the words ‘your boyfriend’. “It’s not that it reminds me that you were a Death Eater. Hell, I don’t care about that anymore. It’s that… it reminds me of everything _he_ did… all those years of him in my head….” He shook his head, rubbing at his scar absent-mindedly. Draco frowned.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked in a soft tone. Harry shook his head again with a half-hearted smile.

“No, no it hasn’t hurt in years. Not since the Battle.” He took a deep breath and lowered his hand. When he looked up again at Draco, his eyes were gentle, but haunted by a shadow flickering just beneath the surface. He reached out and traced his fingertips down Draco’s arm, a small frown tugging at his mouth as his fingers passed over the Mark. Then, he leaned down and brushed his lips against it. Draco tried to stifle a gasp. This close, Harry could see that the Mark was surrounded by a series of small scars, some darker than others. He glanced up at Draco. Draco bit his lip.

“I tried,” he said, voice so quiet Harry had to strain to make out the words, “years ago, to get rid of the Mark. At least, that’s what I told myself, at the time. Mother found me, the last time.” He pointed at one scar that, unlike the rest, ran vertically along the curve of the snake, almost hidden by the writhing serpent. There, the skin was raised, puckered pink against black and white. He let out a hollow laugh. “She heard me fall over and when she knocked and I didn’t answer, she burst into the bathroom where I was, a bloody mess on the floor. When I came to, hours later, all bandaged up and bundled away in my room, she slapped me and called me a drama queen.” He ran his finger up and down the scar with a watery smile on his trembling lips. “I hadn’t known my father had just done the same thing in Azkaban. Except he did the job properly. She had only told me that he had died, she hadn’t said anything about….” He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, tried to rub away the tears slipping down his cheeks. “Gods, I was so stupid,” he muttered thickly, trying to smile. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, it’s not the time nor the place, the first time you see me with my shirt off and I’m blubbering like a baby.”

Harry let out a small noise of protest and sat up, pulling Draco into his arms. Draco dropped his head on Harry’s shoulder with a broken sigh. Harry held him close, rubbed his back, peppered the side of his head with reassuring kisses as Draco tried to piece himself back together. When Draco’s breathing began to even out, Harry said, voice muffled against his hair, “I’m glad you told me. And you know what? This just proves to me that you are stronger than I ever could have believed.”

Draco pulled back in disbelief. “Surely it just proves once and for all that I’m a coward,” he argued. Harry cupped the side of his face with one hand, brushing away lingering tears with his thumb.

“Not at all,” Harry said firmly. “You’re as brave a Gryffindor as any of them.”

Draco frowned. “Those words can never leave this room,” he said. “I can’t have my good Slytherin reputation besmirched by such slander.”

Harry laughed. “I promise not to say a word about it,” he replied, leaning in to give him a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. Draco heaved a sigh of relief.

“Good. Because listen, coming out as a raging homosexual did nothing for my good graces, I can’t imagine what the others would say if I was secretly a Gryffindor.” He smiled at Harry’s snort of laughter, looking for all the world ten years younger, like a yoke had been lifted from his neck. He pulled Harry in for a kiss, and when he deepened it, Harry did not object.

6.

“What happened? To Malfoy Manor, that is.” Harry rolled over in bed to face Draco, who lay stretched out on his back with one arm tucked behind his head.

“Oh, well, that’s a bit of a long story,” he said. Harry snuggled in, his head on Draco’s chest, tracing patterns across his abdomen while Draco’s voice rumbled beneath his ear. “You see, my father had found out about me being with other men while he was in Azkaban. Don’t know how, I reckon a new inmate must have brought some gossip in or something, not that it matters really. He confronted me about it the last time Mother and I visited him. When I wouldn’t deny it, he threatened to disown me.” Harry raised his head to look up at Draco, but Draco smiled. “Don’t worry, he didn’t. Mother stepped in then, said that if he disowned me then he would have to divorce her, too. Mind you, I hadn’t told Mother either, but I suspect she always knew. In any case, Father did meet with his lawyer before he…passed, and apparently made it so that my mother inherited everything, not me. Not exactly disowning – in the event of her death, it would pass to me, but still. One degree of separation and all that. Anyway, he died and she got the Manor. But she couldn’t stay there, too many memories. I would find her sometimes on her hands and knees, scrubbing at the floors, and when I asked her what she was doing – this woman, who never manually cleaned anything in her life – all she would say was, ‘The blood never really gets out, does it?’”

Harry, who had folded his hands under his chin to better watch Draco as he told his story, closed his eyes for a moment. He tried to imagine Narcissa Malfoy – proud, regal matriarch that she was – scrubbing the floorboards and marble tiles of the Manor. He couldn’t. Instead, he remembered Voldemort, barefoot, stepping over the bloodied bodies, their eyes glazed as their lives seeped into the floor beneath them. He opened his eyes just in time to hear Draco continue,

“So, she sold Malfoy Manor to the Ministry, and now it’s a museum, apparently, all about both Wizarding Wars. I hear it’s quite nice. Haven’t been, obviously. I’ll probably never see it again, if I’m honest.”

Harry shrugged. “You never know,” he pointed out. “Maybe if Foreign Affairs doesn’t work out, you can get a job as a tour guide.”

That’s when Draco hit him with a pillow.

7.

When Draco got home from work one night, it was to the strange sight of Harry in the kitchen, cooking. They had both agreed that beyond the basics, the task of cooking should be left to Draco. Not that Harry was a bad cook, per se. Just a dangerous one.

Draco took in the chaos in front of him. The French doors leading out to the back garden were open to let out the smoke that lingered in the air. There was a heap of dishes in the sink and more strewn across the stovetop, all bubbling away with what looked like an attempt at some sort of intricate curry dish. Harry poked at a pan of simmering vegetables, his tongue sticking out slightly as he peered over his steamed-up glasses at his experiment. Draco cleared his throat. Harry looked up, saw Draco watching him with a bemused smile, and beamed. His hair was even more wild than usual, and he was wearing a frilly apron, likely left over from Draco’s mother, that was covered in a spattering of sauce and flour.

“What’s all this?” Draco asked. He set his robed down on a spare bit of counter not covered in discarded spices and utensils before pulling Harry in for a quick kiss.

“Dinner,” Harry replied. He frowned. “Or at least, I hope it’s dinner. I’ve only made this once before and it almost blew up last time.”

“Blew…up?” Draco eyed the simmering vegetables with a great deal more wariness than before. Harry shrugged.

“I’m pretty sure it was just because I accidently mixed up my potions ingredients with my cooking ingredients,” he explained casually as he turned back to check on his rice and lentils. “Thankfully, you keep your potions stuff separate.”

“Yes,” Draco said, drawing out the single syllable, “because mistakes are liable to happen if you don’t. Like spontaneously combusting curry.” Harry only shrugged again with a charming little smile, as if that wasn’t a big concern for him. “What’s smoking?” Draco asked hesitantly, worried he might not want to know the answer.

“Oh, I tried to bake a cake,” said Harry. He pointed at the heap of dishes in the sink with his spoon. “But I burnt it. So no dessert, I’m afraid, just dinner.”

“If it doesn’t blow up.”

“Exactly.”

Draco looked his boyfriend up and down, frowning with confused concern. “Why are you so… bubbly?” he asked. Harry laughed. Now Draco was really concerned.

“Oh, I quit my job this morning,” said Harry, grinning.

“You _what_?”

“Yeah! I went into work, had a panic attack, and after a cup of tea I walked right into Robards’ office and quit! So now I’m celebrating!”

Draco shook his head, but he couldn’t help smiling back with relief. Harry had been miserable since they had first run into each other at Ginny and Luna’s party. The job had taken more than its usual toll on Harry’s mental health – if he had thought the panic attacks were bad, it was nothing compared to the night terrors. Half the nights they spent together ended with Draco calming Harry down from a nightmare, and more than once he’d woken up with a wand pointed at his face when Harry woke up and couldn’t remember where he was. He’d been telling Harry to quit for ages, and now…. He came up behind Harry and wrapped him up in his arms, hugging him close.

“I’m proud of you,” he murmured. “Have you thought of what you’re going to do next? It’s okay if you don’t have a plan just yet.”

Harry leaned back against Draco as he thought. Draco, meanwhile, kept an eye on the pots, half-ready to pull out his wand and cast an extinguishing charm on everything.

“I could work in a different part of the Ministry,” Harry mused. “But the idea of getting stuck behind a desk for the rest of my life is…not great. To be completely honest, what I would really like to do is teach.”

“So teach,” said Draco, pressing a kiss to Harry’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’d be wonderful, and everyone at Hogwarts would love to have you.”

“Oh, I’m a fantastic teacher,” Harry told him with a smug grin. “But it’s already almost halfway through the first term, so I’d have to wait until next year to even see if there’s an opening. Now that I’m gone, I’ve heard their Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers actually last longer than a year, so chances are I’d end up doing something silly, like Divination.”

“You’re joking, but I could see you up in Trelawney’s tower.”

“Sod off,” Harry laughed. Draco couldn’t help his own grin. It had been a while since he’d seen Harry so happy, or heard him laugh this much. His excitement was contagious.

“You don’t have to just teach at Hogwarts, you know,” Draco pointed out. “You could go anywhere. Go to America and teach at Ilvermorny. I hear Americans love a British accent. Or Beauxbatons, although you might break my heart and run off with a French person.”

Harry hummed. “The group from Beauxbatons back in fourth year really did help my bisexual awakening,” he admitted as he stirred the vegetables and prodded at the rice and lentils. “I couldn’t decide who was prettier, the French girls or the French boys.”

Draco nipped playfully at Harry’s ear, making him yelp. “That settles it,” Draco said, “you’re definitely not going to France.”

“Oh, c’mon, it was years ago! And besides,” he set his spoon down and turned around in Draco’s arms, pulling himself closer by Draco’s narrow hips, “no one is prettier than you.”

Draco chuckled. He kissed him on the forehead. “ _Merci beaucoup, mon amour. Tu dis la verité._ ”

Harry pulled away, his brow furrowing. “Since when do you speak French?” he demanded. Draco shrugged.

“I was raised speaking both,” he explained. “I just use English more often, although French does come in handy in the Foreign Office. You’d be surprised how many British witches and wizards don’t speak another language other than English, Gaelic or Welsh, although I have to admit, the latter is still pretty impressive to me.”

Harry considered this carefully. Then he leaned up on tiptoe to whisper in Draco’s ear, “ _Daddy_ would like it if my baby spoke French in bed.” Draco blushed crimson, but nodded eagerly all the same.

“Oh, and _daddy_? Your vegetables are burning.”

“Goddamn it, not again!”

8.

Harry raced up the steps and skidded into Draco’s office. Draco barely had enough time to whip off his reading glasses and shove them under some paperwork.

“Hermione had her baby – wait, were you wearing glasses?”

“What, no, of course not,” Draco spluttered. He turned fully in his desk chair to obstruct Harry’s view even as Harry tried to peer around him. “How is she? Hermione?”

“Fine, recovering at St. Mungo’s,” he said, a smirk slowly spreading across his face as he attempted to sidestep past Draco to get to the desk. “Seriously, were those glasses?”

“Fuck off, Potter. Now, if you’re quite finished, I have a lot of work to catch up on.”

“Oh, actually, I was just going to say,” Harry said, distracted in his search from the glasses and turning his attention back to Draco, “I might go over and see them in hospital, so I might be late for dinner tonight. Do you want me to just meet you at the restaurant?”

Draco sighed. “Yes, that’s fine. Anything else?”

“One last thing.” Harry leaned in for a kiss, but just as he did, he reached out with his swift Seeker reflexes and snatched the glasses out from under their hiding place. Draco made a grab for them to no avail – Harry had already sprinted away.

“I hate you, you know that?” Draco called after Harry as he galloped down the stairs.

“I know!” Harry called back with glee. Draco threw up his hands, but couldn’t suppress his grin. He’d get him back one day.

9.

Draco snuck into the quiet bedroom, holding his shoes in one hand. He could just make out the tangle of black hair poking out from under the covers. He set the shoes down by the door and began undressing as quickly and stealthily as he could. He slipped into the bed, wearing nothing but his pants, settling in behind the sleeping man. Harry whined.

“Ngh, you’re cold,” he mumbled into the pillow. Draco chuckled and nuzzled in closer, wrapping his arms around Harry and burying his face in the crook of his neck, even when Harry squirmed, complaining about his cold nose. Harry turned in his arms to face him, hooking one leg around Draco’s him as he lay nose to nose with him. “How was South Africa?” he asked, voice still thick with sleep. Draco shrugged, kissed him on the forehead instead of answering.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll tell you in the morning.”

Harry’s eyes had already closed. He burrowed back down further under the covers, his head half against the pillow and half on Draco’s chest. Draco held him there, slowly running his fingers through Harry’s wild curls as he fell back to sleep.

How had he gotten so lucky? He pressed his nose into Harry’s hair, breathing in the smell of his shampoo, allspice and pepper. He kissed his temple, his stubbled jaw, the corner of his mouth. He settled back down against the pillow, his fingers mindlessly playing with the curls on the back of Harry’s neck. Draco wondered vaguely if he was dreaming, if he would wake up the next morning stuck in Malfoy Manor, playing endless games of chess against himself to try to keep himself sane. Harry began to snore softly. Draco smiled to himself. Definitely not dreaming, then. He closed his eyes. Here, with Harry in his arms, he was safe. Here, this was love.


End file.
